all i want
by delightisadream
Summary: Maybe she was still in denial, but he wasn't. He hadn't been for a long time. Maybe he never was. Their faces were centimeters apart. He didn't have to pose any dangerous question to assume it confirmed. She knew. She wasn't in denial. She was just scared. /The big day finally arrives, but after being postponed for so long, something else can't be held back anymore either.


"_And then I can tell myself_

_What the hell I'm supposed to do."_

* * *

This was not how the day was supposed to go.

Maybe it wasn't a Halloween wedding, but it was still pretty damn perfect. The venue—Grey House, of course—looked amazing, both of the families had been able to make it out, The Bistro was catering the event free of charge (all for Stephanie's favorite couple). It was still autumn, so the leaves were rustling, sending a gentle breeze over everyone that was just chilly enough to run through your veins and make you excited to be alive. Any current Grey House guest was welcome to attend, and they did, because the bride was just that charismatic and inviting they couldn't say no. No dress mishaps had occurred, the groom hadn't seen the bride in her dress before he should have, their vows were written. Martha was officiating, Abigail had placed each and every flower in the perfect location, the bride's maids and the groom's best men had been prepared for the last week and a half, and the rings were right where they were supposed to be.

And it was beautiful. People were crying two minutes in, George gave the bride away, and the groom looked like the happiest man in the world. Martha added some lines of her own to fit the couple in front of her, and their vows struck a chord in everyone's hearts. Lori and Tara openly wept in the audience and Liam softly smiled around the bride and groom at Stephanie. And when it came time to say "I do," the groom had no problem getting the words out. The bride's eyes were shining just looking at him, the ever present smile on her lips as he said the words. But just as Martha turned to her and said to repeat after her, the bride's eyes shifted away from her soon-to-be husband's and onto his son behind him. Maybe to someone who had just met him he'd seem fine, but he didn't look alright to her. He looked detached, almost distraught, and it didn't click in her mind until she realized he wasn't watching his father at all. She didn't need to turn around to know he was focused on her daughter, as he always was. And her stomach turned.

And she stopped the wedding.

And she left the ceremony without an explanation, tears in her eyes.

* * *

He found her. Not because he was looking for her, but because he always found her. He always would.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, admiring the deep red of the dress she wore in a way that wasn't the most platonic; or, as they had almost been, familial. It was simple yet elegant and hugged her body perfectly, so much that it threatened to draw more attention and looks than the bride's dress all day long. She sat delicately on the bed in the game room, gazing out the window above the headboard. Leaves tumbled swiftly outside, having their own inner battle.

She shifted slightly, then softly exhaled, "Nick," before turning to him.

He paused, breath catching at her gaze. "Sorry," he managed, feeling rooted to his spot in the doorway. "I was just…"

She stared for a moment, seemingly unsure what to say as well. Her eyes flickered across his suit. "It's fine. I'm just . . . reflecting, I guess."

He nodded once, taking in the rest of the room instead of her curves as he had been a minute before. He wasn't sure what to say to her right now, what to ask. If he was _supposed _to ask anything.

Grace fingered the hem of her dress and rubbed her arm, mind whirling. "You can come sit down," she offered, eyes jumping up to his the second he looked back to her. She casually gestured to the spot on the bed next to her.

Nick's feet wouldn't move at first, but he made his way over to her and settled in beside her, turned inward. A beat passed before he asked, cautiously, "Did you find your mom?"

She shook her head, a look of disbelief crossing her face. "No. I looked for a little before I…"

He waited.

"I think she wants to be alone, and that means away from me too."

Nick went to put his arm around her before second guessing it and placing his left hand on her leg instead. She tensed beneath his touch. _Maybe that's worse. _"I'm sorry, Grace."

There was a pause, but she sighed and then the tension went away. She dropped her right hand on top of his, fingers curling into his palm. "I'm okay. There's no way she'd . . . do what she did without a good reason, so I think she needs the time away from everyone." His thumb was rubbing lightly against her thigh, and she stared at it for a long, silent moment, transfixed, before looking up at him. "Did you find your dad?"

Nick grimaced, thumb stilling. He was the one to tense up this time. "Uh, yeah, I did. But I didn't know what to say."

The aftermath had not been a fun time for anyone involved. Cassie had left so abruptly, and at the very end of the ceremony most people were in shock and almost didn't believe it had happened at all. Sam looked like he had been punched in the gut, and Grace had contemplated apologizing profusely before deciding it wasn't her place. She didn't know what was going through her mother's mind, because why in the _world _would she leave her own _perfect _wedding; but Nick had made her realize long ago that sometimes she needed to step back and let people do what they wanted to do at their own pace. Cassie would explain to everyone, Sam most importantly, why she had left in time, Grace was sure.

Sam had went off in the direction his runaway bride had gone soon after, but evidently he hadn't found her and Nick had found him instead.

Grace flipped his hand over and pressed her palm against his, gripping his fingers. She smiled sadly at him. "I wouldn't know what to say either. I don't think anyone would."

He frowned down at their hands, damning their circumstances. But still, he squeezed back, eyes lifting slowly to meet hers. Everything about her was tragically beautiful. Everything about her was always beautiful. And he wanted to tell her that, but it came out as, "I'm sorry your makeup is going to waste."

The skin around her eyes crinkled as she instantly laughed, ducking her head as she did. He could feel the grin spreading across his face, even more sure of it when he saw her wide smile as she sobered up. "Thanks, you too," she teased, brushing her free hand across his forehead. Nick lightly shoved her shoulder, chuckling even as she tousled his hair and tightened her grip on his hand.

For a moment, as he watched her eyes shine happily at their familiar and comforting banter, he forgot why they were in this position and what had led them to it. He didn't remember to worry about his father or what had almost been, and was instead enjoying every single second of joy Grace brought to his life.

There was some shuffling in the hallway before George appeared and Grace abruptly let go of Nick's hand. He reluctantly shifted away from her, clasping his cold hands in his lap, unsure what George would make their little scene out to be.

But George caught his breath and merely took in the room before asking, "Grace, dear, have you seen your mother?"

Grace's face dropped and Nick's hand itched to grab hers again. "No, Grandpa. How many people are still looking?"

The man thought for a moment, gripping the doorframe and ticking off people with his other hand. "Well there's Lori, Tara, Brandon, Martha. Stephanie and Liam went off somewhere, and I don't think for romantic reasons. Oh—and of course Abigail's out there, but she's just called everyone back for a meeting." George nodded to his granddaughter. "You know Abigail; we'll find her."

She gave a small nod, not seemingly entirely convinced.

"I'll let you take a break, but come down if you feel up to listening to what Abigail has to say." He was just about to leave the room when he glanced at the floor. He bent and picked up a stray paper near the waste bin. "Kids, I'd be careful where you leave your speeches," he recommended, the grimace crossing his face reddening. "Wouldn't want one of your parents to find them." He placed it in the trash and left the room.

Nick started to turn to Grace just as she groaned and threw an arm over her eyes, falling back onto the bed. "That's one of my drafts. I would come up here when I had writer's block or wanted to tweak something."

His eyebrows drew together, body turning to face her. "When'd you come in here last? I thought we both finished our speeches months ago."

"Um . . . last night. This morning?" She groaned again. "I don't know."

He paused at first, contemplating, then removed her arm and peered at her curiously. "What was the problem? You seemed so confident in it before."

"Yeah, I know I kept going on about it, but that was more to get under your skin than how I actually felt," she admitted, pressing her cheek against the duvet, eyes staring up at him. "The problem wasn't Sam, because I already see him as a father figure, or my mom, because I was—am?—happy for her. The problem was…" She hesitated, and he motioned for her to continue. She made a disgruntled noise and covered her face again. "I couldn't write both formally _and_ from the heart if . . . I referred to you as . . . my brother."

He couldn't breathe for a moment and was suddenly glad she refused to look at him. "You . . . Grace, what do you—"

"I—yeah. I know I've brought up how we'd be family soon countless times, but I read over my speech last night to make sure there wasn't anything I wanted to add and it just felt _wrong, _you know? We've—we've been friends for so long, and I think I figured if I kept bringing the wedding up and reminding myself we'd be siblings that it'd make sense, but it just _doesn't _and I can't wrap my head around…" She exhaled loudly, shyly moving her arm and making eye contact that burned him to the very core. "I don't know, Nick."

Delicately, because he wasn't sure if this was actually happening or not, Nick laid down beside her and stared up at the ceiling. "I get it. Remember how I told you most of my speech was about you?" He felt her nod. "Well, for one I wasn't joking, and for two I think I used the word 'sister' about . . . _maybe _twice. And that's pushing it."

Her gaze was as enticing as usual and he felt compelled to look into her orbs, but he refrained. He got lost in those way too often. "Why is it so hard for us to bridge that gap?"

He almost snorted. He knew why. He had known since this morning, although that was only when he truly let himself understand what exactly it meant and just how deeply he felt. They'd teased each other relentlessly and binged on snacks while they waited for the ceremony to start, and when they actually walked down the aisle arm in arm, he couldn't help but nudge her and sneak little goofy grins at her. He hadn't been able to stop looking at her even as Martha began speaking. He'd only managed to tear his gaze away when the wedding screeched to an early halt.

And maybe he hadn't realized that Cassie had seen how he was looking at her daughter, but she had; and maybe that had changed everything, but the reality was that it had simply opened her eyes to something she had wanted to stay blind to.

"I…" What was he supposed to say to that? In the grand scheme of things, he found it absolutely in_sane _that she didn't have even an inkling as to why they couldn't adapt to a true merged family, and honestly he didn't believe it. Maybe she was still in denial, but he wasn't. He hadn't been for a long time. Maybe he never was.

He turned his head, and his heart fumbled through the execution. Their faces were centimeters apart; he could feel her startled breath on his face. Her eyes had widened the tiniest fraction, and he didn't have to pose any dangerous question to assume it confirmed. She knew. She wasn't in denial.

She was just scared.

Her magnetic gaze stayed on his for a moment longer before her eyes gave in and flickered down to his mouth. She returned to the eye contact a second later only for him to interrupt it by doing the very same thing. Their breathing staggered in a way that suggested they had done a lot more than just think about breaking a _stupidly _flimsy barrier.

Grace sat up and got to her feet, albeit a bit shakily. Nick slowly rose to a sitting position while she rubbed her palms on her dress. "It's—it's hot in here, right? It's hot." She didn't look as she maneuvered around him to go to the window, reaching to open it halfway.

She was scared.

He didn't want this to make her retreat. He didn't want this to be a large, flashing **what if **over his head for the rest of his life.

"So what were you saying about me in your speech, then? In the drafts?" he asked, voice lower than he meant for it to be.

She coughed and hovered by the window. "Just—how you've grown and our friendship and . . . loving Halloween, of course." She made a feeble attempt to laugh.

She was scared.

Nick didn't laugh. "Can I read it?" He twisted to look at her.

Grace's forced smile faltered. "No. I mean, the wedding's off. Of course you can't."

He tilted his head. "C'mon. You spent all that time on it, and I can't even decide if it's better than mine or not?"

She scoffed. "It totally is and you know it." She made to walk around him, but he caught her by the wrist.

His gaze traveled up her arm until their eyes met. "Please?"

Her pulse jumped underneath his grasp.

She was scared.

"No."

At the same time, their gazes switched to the waste bin by the door and they started for it. Nick slammed into the door, closing it while Grace snatched up the paper out of the garbage and took an unsteady step backward. Their eyes met, and he was transported back to the one day that had convinced him initiating something more was a good idea, that she'd reciprocate. He thought of The Bistro and biology textbooks and flowers that didn't hold a candle to her appearance.

"No," she said more forcefully, but her gaze was wavering.

She was scared.

Grace tried to open the door.

She was scared.

He held it closed and she ended up between him and the door, breathing heavily.

She was scared.

Nick's fingers caught the paper, but she didn't let go. Their free fingers brushed, sending an electric shock through them both.

She was scared.

"Nick," she whispered, voice light and feathery and filled with anticipation. Their faces were centimeters apart again. His hand twitched against hers and settled on her hip.

She was scared.

But _dammit,_ so was he.

"This is why we can't cross that bridge," he finally responded, low and gravelly and eyes going over every inch of her face.

She swallowed audibly, but she didn't move away. She didn't make another quip about the tension in the room. She had almost forgotten about the open window letting some much needed cool air in.

How was the breeze, again? _Just chilly enough to run through your veins and make you excited to be alive._

He closed the gap, covering her lips with his own. She let go of the breath she'd been holding, and his mouth opened against hers before they melded back together. His grip tightened on her hip just as she gave in and took his face in her hands, pulling him to her and prompting his other arm to encircle her back. The door rattled when they stumbled into it, causing Grace to break away slightly and release a breathy laugh that had Nick grinning along with her, their eyes opened for a moment in pure joy.

And disbelief. His mind was this close to short-circuiting and his body was on fire, but some part of him just couldn't comprehend that he was kissing Grace—or, more so, that she was kissing him back. They'd spent so long dancing around each other that at some point, he reasoned, it had switched to outright refusal to break the almost nonexistent barrier they had reluctantly put up, and that had brought them to this moment. He thought of his father, sad and alone, desperately wondering where his runaway bride went—but then he felt Grace's leg run up his and her fingers were in his hair and all his concerns went away.

The hand on her back slid down to the leg around him and the one on her hip moved to hold her, deepening the kiss they both needed air from. But a part of him worried that if they broke apart, even for a second, then they'd have second thoughts and consider the consequences of finally giving into their desires, and Nick really didn't want to stop this. He never wanted it to stop.

Grace seemed to be having the same thoughts, because her foot touched the ground again and then she was moving him backwards. To the bed, he realized, only when the back of his legs hit the mattress and he paused before sitting down. She followed him, still making out; and honestly he didn't expect her to, but she dug one knee into the mattress before placing the other on the other side of his legs, her dress riding up as she straddled him. Nick's hands explored the newly exposed skin, wondering just how far they'd go—just as she slipped a hand into his suit and began undoing the jacket and tearing off the tie. Only when he'd shed both articles and she was still kissing him just as fiercely did he let his hands wander.

The moan he received was not anticipated but was so _completely _welcome that he couldn't help but detach their lips to kiss her neck; just once, but she made another noise and he was already so sure he never wanted to hear anything else. His hands touched the zipper of her dress and focused on it, tracing a finger up the cool metal. Grace lifted his mouth back to hers and within the next instant he felt the buttons of his shirt being undone as she tipped him back until she was on top of him.

He went with the momentum and flipped them over, finding her dress inching higher and higher up and himself between her legs. She had just managed to rip open the last button when she pulled back from his lips. He froze and analyzed the calculating look on her face, one hand entangled in her hair and the other practically burning on her hip. She looked as gorgeous as ever, but also monumentally, beautifully _wrecked,_ and he got a weird sense of satisfaction that _he'd _done that to her. He assumed he looked the same, if not worse.

Grace was just staring at him, exhaling in stuttering breaths as her hands pressed into his chest. Nick cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from her mouth, glancing around the room and shuddering at the breeze coming in through the opened window. If she was stopping this . . . there's no way he'd go against her wishes, but this wouldn't be something they could keep ignoring. They'd cracked now, and there wasn't a way to go back to normal.

They'd never been normal.

"Grace, uh…" He found he eyes again and let out a sharp breath, feeling her hand move with his chest. His heart thumped so loudly he was sure she could feel it beneath her fingers. "If you—if you don't want to keep going, then that's, that's _fine, _we don't have to. I mean, I want to, I'm not saying we shouldn't." He knew he was babbling, but she wasn't saying anything and he didn't know what else to do. "I'd really, _really _like to continue, but we don't have to if you don't wan—"

"I think I'm in love with you."

All the air was stolen from his lungs. His eyes snapped back to hers. "Y...you…?"

She looked as innocent as possible while underneath him with swollen lips, and her expression wasn't confused. She repeated herself. "Nick, I think I'm in love with you."

His lips parted but nothing came out.

So Grace kept talking. "Actually, no, I'm pretty sure. I know I am." She paused, waiting for a reaction. "I feel . . . odd admitting this today when my mom is God-knows-where, but I. I'm also glad she didn't go through with it, because if she had, then . . . I never would've had the courage to tell you. And I love you." Her eyes shined for a second, flickering over his face. "I do."

It was her eyes, he thought, that brought him back. His heart was still beating erratically and his breathing was uneven, but he managed to lean forward and kiss her once more, slowly. He took his time with this kiss, unlike before when the only thing that mattered was making out against the door. When Nick pulled away, he looked at her and took a breath before responding. "I love you so much. I always have."

He figured some part of her didn't need the confirmation—most of her, actually—but still she lit up like a Christmas tree. She whispered his name happily as she surged forward, cupping his face and pulling him to her like the magnets they were. They fell back into their previous position and Nick finished removing his shirt, hands back on her body as soon as possible. Her legs were wrapping around him, her dress rising further and further until, with his help, it bunched around her middle. Wind kept blowing in through the window, but they both were so warm and loved and _in _love that they didn't notice.

* * *

Downstairs, Grey House's kitchen was holding a frantic meeting.

Abigail, normally calm and collected, paced the room with her hands on her hips while the rest of the group stayed congregated by the island or the dining table. Lori kept checking her phone every few minutes and Stephanie had been tapping an annoying rhythm on the table until Liam's hand silently covered hers. George quietly dismissed the guests before rubbing his hands and approaching the Meriwick woman.

"Abigail, I'm sure she's fi—"

"My goodness, _where _is Cassie?!" Martha exclaimed, undoing her scarf as she entered the room. "Shouldn't she be back by now?"

George exhaled quietly, his patience already being tested.

Abigail turned on her heel and threw her hands out. "Exactly! Where the hell is she? This whole thing is so unlike her and, honestly, I'm beginning to get worried."

Brandon leaned toward his wife and quietly mumbled, "Beginning?" earning a look that Tara tried to make stern, but her energy was zapped. This entire ordeal was taking its toll on everyone.

Stephania tapped the table again. "I can't believe she'd just leave Sam. She _loves _him! Anyone with eyes can see that!"

Liam frowned from beside her. "I really wish I could do something to help him out right now."

Stephanie turned toward him, nuzzling into him lightly. "Oh, there's nothing you could do. He wants to be alone."

"Which, I'm sure," Brandon suggested, "is just what Cassie wants. She needs time to sort everything out."

Lori set her phone down loudly, with probably too much force. "But would a text message letting me know she's alright be too much to ask?"

Martha gasped and covered her mouth. "You don't think she's gotten lost, do you? Or worse?"

George sighed, louder this time. "Now Martha, she's lived in this town for so long and she's got a good head on her shoulders. I bet she's in one of the shops, just warming up and thinking—"

"Okay, so let's look in town again!" Abigail interrupted, deciding she couldn't stay fidgeting and worrying for her cousin any longer. Abigail Pershing was not one for inactivity; she made things happen. "Everyone check your respective businesses and the surroundings areas—and _especially _Bell, Book, and Candle. George search outside again, and I'll look upstairs one more time before heading out, okay?" The group was nodding and gathering their belongings up, but still she snapped, "Go!"

The room cleared out rather quickly after that, and Abigail ran through the day's events as she ascended the stairs. In the morning, Cassie simply looked happy to be _alive. _Her wedding day had finally, finally arrived, and, thinking back on it, Abigail couldn't pick out any unusual behavior at all . . . right up until Cassie left Sam at the altar. That was the only thing she'd done all day out of character, and there didn't seem to be any internal conflict she'd been battling beforehand. The wedding had ended so abruptly and out of the blue that Abigail had half a brain to think she'd actually imagined it.

And where in the _world _were Nick and Grace? She knew they had went off to look for their parents, but Nick had reported back about Sam needing space and Grace just looked sad when she arrived back home. As to their whereabouts now: total mystery. Abigail made her way up to the attic and surveyed the room once more, dissatisfied with the lack of a crying bride. On her way downstairs, she was much more aware of her surroundings now that she knew Cassie was, in fact, not in the house. She stopped in her room to grab her purse and keys and double check she had her phone before heading back out, walking slowly in case she saw any hints of Cassie having been there previously.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, except for the slight shoe indention just outside the game room. Abigail frowned, moving closer. That definitely wasn't Cassie's shoe, but, as far as Abigail was aware, the game room wasn't a common place for guests. She was just about to touch the door handle when a noise floated out, and her cheeks flushed. _What the…_

There was a squeak, which Abigail identified as the bed moving, undoubtedly. Before her mind could piece together exactly what that meant, she heard something else.

_"God, Nick, I love you…"_

There might've been more, but Abigail was rushing for the stairs and all but throwing herself down them. That. That voice was Grace's voice. And if that was Grace's voice then . . . Maybe Abigail didn't know where the bride was.

But she knew why she'd done it.

And she should've seen it coming.

* * *

**man idk what the game room looks like in full, i have no clue where it is in reference to the other rooms in grey house, but do i give a fuck? no.**

**also i read over this like once oof**

**originally posted on ao3 on 11.17.2018**


End file.
